


Touch Me There

by empia



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Some Plot, Some angst, smut with feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empia/pseuds/empia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An au where Harry is a solo artist trying to stop the noise inside his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Me There

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I can't write smut without a slather of angst in the mix. 
> 
> The title comes from 'A Little Death' by The Neighbourhood.

It’s dark outside by the time everyone clears out of the recording studio. Harry and Zayn, his producer, being the last ones out.

“Don’ travel far yeah? We have recording to wrap up and the party you need to show up to tomorrow, so no heavy drinking okay?”

It’s been a busy day, a busy several days. Okay it’s been a hectic two years and he's not sure it's ever going to stop. Harry’s exhausted, truly, utterly unable to even want to continue. First time Grammy nominee for best new artist, Harry Styles is currently having a mental breakdown and all he wants is a drink (or two) and to curl into bed with his cat.

“Harry, did you hear me?”

Harry nods because what else is there to do? Zayn’s only looking out for him.

"Yeah yeah, I heard you." Zayn pats his shoulder before heading the opposite direction, a cloud of smoke following him.

"I don't want a repeat of last week!" Zayn quips from across the street. Honestly, Harry was only slightly tipsy when Zayn found him.

With the streets empty and no real obligations, Harry walks the several blocks to his hotel room. He thinks about the wine bottle he bought earlier and the used wine glass by his bedside. Drinking alone is never fun and Harry just wants company, someone to hold his hand and laugh at his silly jokes, to hug when he's feeling down or to sleep next too. But he doesn't want that with just anyone, he needs it to mean something. 

He eyes the hotels entrance dreading the loneliness of his room, the silence encourages his mind to create more, but he doesn't want that; he keeps going straight.

A light drizzle starts when Harry's walk goes on for more than ten minutes. It creates a beat to the melody inside his head. He may be out of the studio but his mind never takes a moments rest, always anxious to construct a string of notes into a semblance of music. Sometimes he has these symphonies, other times its just one solid note over and over and over again. It’s quite maddening.

In his haste to forget, to quiet the space in his head for just a moment, Harry ends up surrounded by more noise than he can handle. 

The club next to him vibrates with music. It provides a contrast to the noise he hears.

It's a Friday night, the place packed with people. It's easy for Harry to slip in and grab a drink, at least this way he's not entirely alone.

He takes the seat furthest away from the dancing crowd, waits for the bartender to walk over.

"What can I get you sir." He's a young, good looking man, one that would certainly know Harry's face. His eyes however, are earnest and open. It's been a while since he's seen that in a person.

"The strongest drink you have." The man tilts his head and goes to working on his drinking, mixing liquids expertly.

Harry takes this moment to look around. The music is loud enough to drown out the white noise weaving between his ears. It let's him think (even if its just for a second). He surveys the large group of people, but its difficult to make out any distinct features. It's all blurry.

A drink is placed in front of him, followed by, "take care of yourself mate. It looks like you could use some sleep after this." Maybe he does, but going to a cold bed with no one to lie beside is more off putting than Harry's willing to admit. 

*

He's only two drinks in, starting on his third when he feels someone's eyes on him. He takes a sip of his drink before looking behind him, meeting the gaze of a blue eyed man. 

It's an odd moment; there's a pull he hasn't felt in years, back when he wasn't Harry Styles, but just Harry. Back to a time when he could get lost in the crowd, boys and men crowding around him on the dance floor. He loved feeling overwhelmed, overtaken by the intense touching from older boys asking his name and his age. Harry would flutter his eyes, wet his lips and distract them with his hands before responding. 

Things really haven't changed, but being under the spotlight has its restrictions. Harry's expected to walk out of clubs with girls trailing in his wake, to help his image as the player. Nine times out of ten, he drops the girl off at her apartment, never having any intention to do anything.

So. 

When he sees the man with blue eyes, Harry's not sure what to do. And he likes that. 

It starts off innocently enough. The man smiles from afar, and Harry can only return the gesture. He sips his drink, trying to ignore the gaze burning into his back. He tells himself he won't look back, he can't afford to look. 

Harry lost control the moment he met the man's eyes. Except when Harry searches for him across the room he doesn't find the man with blueblue eyes.

The music changes and from the corner of his eyes he sees him. Dancing in the center of the crowd, lights shining on him. Hands roam his body, pulling him from side to side. Another guy grabs his hips pulling him close, and blue eyes wraps his arms 'round his neck. (Harry tries really hard not to grit his teeth.) From over the man's shoulder, blue eyes flick his gaze toward Harry (he might have stopped breathing) and bites the other guys neck, finishing with a smile Harry's way.

He downs how drink, slams some cash and makes his way over. He’s buzzing; it might be the drink he's had or the lights that are buried deep under his skin, but he feels himself being pulled from across the dance floor. He watches as blue eyes let’s go of the guy grabbing his hips, not sparing him even the slightest glance.

Harry feels a steady beat build up in his head that crescendos when they meet in the middle. They don't exchange words, he receives a smile instead. The man, shorter than him, has a glint in his eyes as he turns around fitting himself against Harry, grabbing his arms to wrap his hips. The man rolls his hips to the rhythm in Harry’s head. The man throws his head back pressing little pecks on Harry’s jaw before gently biting. Harry tightens his grip and he feels sweat rolling off his back. He can’t breathe. He doesn't remember ever feeling this way. 

A hand grabs his wrists soon after. A gentle tug, such a contrast to the harsh desperate grinding they were previously doing.

The air outside is welcoming but the man drops Harry’s wrist, he misses the heat.

He aims for casual when he leans on the brick wall, trying to ignore the notes in his head. The man slides up against him, leaving less than a foot of space between them.

"Name's Louis." 

Harry smiles, "Harry."

"Well young Harold, your place or mine?" Harry could feel his cheeks aching from all the smiling.

*

He holds on to his hand tightly, fingers intertwined with Harry's, soft to the touch, such a contrast to Harry's rough hands, calloused from holding his guitar. They walk through alleyways unfamiliar to him, dark and quiet. Louis uses the hand he's holding to twirl himself around; a large laugh erupts from Harry. Who is this boy? With his feathery hair, blueblueblue eyes, smile bright as the sun. Harry wants to know him. Wants to wrap his arms around his waist, inhale his scent, learn his most intimate parts. He feels dizzy with it, overcome with an inexplicable desire to write all the songs coming to life within him.

The stand in front of a red door. "I like to stand out." Louis' smile is coupled with a wink in Harry's direction.

It’s quite once the door is shut.

Harry watches as Louis reaches out for him, placing his hand on his cheek. There’s a small smile and Louis’ eyes crinkle. Harry holds his breath when Louis leans in.

It’s sweet; barely any pressure, before Louis let’s him go. His eyes shine in the dark apartment. And Harry really likes him, but he wants, needs more from him, he can still feel the heat from when Louis’ backside fitted against him. 

“I...” He doesn’t know how to explain what he wants, but Louis seems to understand, pulling him back in, this time cradling his head with both hands, kissing him deeper than before. It’s still gentle, like Louis knows Harry is going to break any second now, because he is; the stress of being famous has put a strain in Harry’s life. He struggles with hiding who he is. But Harry doesn’t want soft and sweet, he needs heatheatheat.

He wastes no time. Harry kisses Louis long and hard, licking into his mouth with more fervor before biting his lip. Louis moans and pushes back against Harry, pushing his shirt higher and higher until they have to part to remove it. He kisses against Harry’s jaw line as Harry pulls Louis’ shirt off, their breaths mingling together.

Louis leads them to his bedroom, tops thrown carelessly to the ground. He pushes Harry back against the bed, making quick work of pulling Harry’s pants off. 

From there Louis takes his time, leaving a trail of heat where his lips graze over his chest, shoulders and hips. It's the most chaste a persons ever been with him, and yet he's never felt more alive, to be slowly worked up and to be brought down with nothing but light pecks of lips. He can feel the tension slowly ebbing away, the cracks in his armor slowly fill up with the heat being given off by Louis. He needs more, he needs his hands everywhere, he needs those lips to heal him, to make him feel again, to make him forget his name. Never has a desire been so strong. Harry simply wants to remember how to breathe; to remember what it was like to be human. Another nameless face in the crowd of thousands, millions. And this man, whose name he only learned just under an hour ago, was healing him, working him slowly from inside out, mending the broken strings of his heart, making him breathe, giving him the air he's forgotten he needed.

Louis stops at his hip, nipping at the skin there. It gives Harry a moment to try and take a deep breath. Louis looks up from where he’s kneeling, a silent question in his eyes. “Please...” and Harry doesn’t know what to say but Louis seems to have made a decisions and licks a stripe down his length. He lightly blows air, causing Harry to buck upwards. He’s not sure he’s going to survive. 

Louis kisses the tip, mouthing over it only briefly, all while staring at Harry. He stops licking to say, “I’m not going to suck you off.” And instead of putting his mouth back on Harry's dick, he gets off the bed, giving Harry a wonderful view of his backside. Harry whines, split on wanting Louis to fuck him or eating his perfect ass. “Where are you going?” he hears a chuckle from Louis who comes back with a bottle. "I can't go in dry babe.” And yeah, Harry definitely wants Louis to fuck him.

Louis sits back on the bed, in between the v of Harry's legs, spreading them further. He traces the ink on his inner thigh, pinching his hip before lightly touching his rim. He teases Harry’s rim, lube cold on his too hot skin. Louis’ finger traces around his hole putting barely any pressure, just a small back and forth motion over it, driving Harry crazy. Harry starts pushing down, trying to get Louis’ finger inside him, needing more than just flickers of a feeling. Louis holds his hips down, slowly plunging into Harry. Louis pushes the tip of his finger until it’s buried up to the knuckle. He pulls out and dives back in. Harry has trouble breathing afterwards. In between whimpers he manages to get out “More, Louis, more.” 

It’s been a while since Harry’s had someone touching him so, slowly opening him up. Louis adds a second finger, curling them deeper inside. Louis massages his inner walls, he’s so close to the bolt of nerves that make Harry lose his mind. 

“Please, just fuck me.” Louis smiles, before lining himself up, watching Harry’s face as he goes in deeper. And he feels so full, stretched out and on fire. Louis mouths at his neck giving him a moment to adjust. He can feel the tears beginning to prickle at the corner of his eyes but he doesn’t want to cry, not yet. Harry wants to thank him but can find the words, can’t really feel anything but want. Every nerve stands on edge ready to set him off. He nods as way to tell Louis he’s ready. 

Louis slowly thrusts into Harry aware that his emotions are running high. He’s being so considerate Harry truly doesn’t understand how this stranger has managed to break down more of Harry’s walls than anyone he considered a friend has. He’s so overwhelmed, watching Louis move, head back and eyes closed but so so gentle. He’s beautiful, the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen, delicate features that have Harry wanting to write down the symphonies ringing in his head. He want’s to dedicate melodies to the whisp of his hair and the crystal blue of his eyes. 

Harry doesn’t realizes he’s crying until Louis brushes the tears away with his thumb. He leans forward and kisses Harry sweetly whispering, “Sh, babe, I got you, I got you,” against his lips. The new angle allows Louis to hit Harry’s spot with each thrust causing Harry’s toes to curl as low moans spill from deep within him. His moans grow louder, and it encourages Louis to push in deeper, pounding into him just the way Harry wanted.

Harry hears white noise when he finally comes. It’s blissfully quiet as he watches Louis come all over him.

He can see Louis talking but for once everything in his head is quite. He watches as Louis turns around coming back with a damp towel. Louis cleans up the mess between his legs before dropping it to the side and pulling the blankets up around them. He turns into Harry, kissing his chest. Harry wraps his arms around him breathing in his hair.

“Thank you.” He’s not sure if Louis’ hear him or not, but he feels the tight squeeze of Louis hand on his hip and that all the confirmation he needs before closing his eyes and letting the even breathes coming from Louis pull him under.

He’s never been happier.


End file.
